Star Trek: Long Odds
by SomeoneNamedGem
Summary: In the wake of the Dominion War, a bunch of good people with better intentions make bad decisions with worse results. An original fic based around and set after DS9 Season 7. Will eventually include a few canon characters.
1. Prologue

**Brief Note:**

I was inspired to write this fic after a rewatch of DS9. It is written with that show in mind and will eventually deal with similar themes. However, I can't be arsed to keep track of all the stardates, techinical nomenclature, or minutiae of Star Trek, so please keep that in mind when reading this. Hopefully you'll find the story engaging enough not to worry about the little details.

 **Prologue**

Long-Eye Grilsh, they called him back on Ferenginar. Or, at the very least, it was what Long-Eye Grilsh said people called him back on Ferenginar. And he said that people called him that because Grilsh saw how to win the long game. No get-rich-quick-get-poor-quicker schemes for him! No, Grilsh always played his cards cautiously, and always played them right.

When his classmates would cut non-financial classes to sell fruit or get work experience, Grilsh stayed in school and earned himself a well-rounded education. When his father died and his brothers sold their inheritance shares of the real estate company and invested in weapons, Grilsh kept his shares until the housing market boomed after the Dominion War, then he sold them and bought a double commission as both the Chief Accounting Officer and Chief Science Officer on the freighter _Piodorn._ When his captain was killed in a freak runabout accident and the _Piodorn_ was inadvertently embedded into a surprisingly stationary planetoid, his crewmates all took their share of the insurance money and bailed.

But not Long-Eye Grilsh! No, his share of the money went to hiring a repair crew to get the life support systems on the _Piodorn_ back online. Granted, the engines were shot and navigation sensors were beyond repair, but the wreckage of the old freighter was quite easily repurposed into a habitat for the mining operation he was setting upon on the planetoid. An planetoid which, in the last few moments before the impact, the _Piodorn's_ sensors had detected were absolutely loaded with pergium.

And now, the Piodorn Mining Corporation was now the greatest supplier of pergium in the entire Greater Trill-Betazed Economic Zone. Half the reactors in the sector carried his pergium, and lucrative government contracts were keeping him flush with latinum. Yes, Long-Eye Grilsh had avoided the quick payouts in favor of steady but increasing profits, and it had certainly paid off. Privately, as he mused to himself in his expansive quarters (once the main cargo hold of the _Piodorn_ ), he entertained the thought of adding one of his own maxims to the Rules of Acquisition: "Only ever gamble when it's a sure bet."

Yes, Grilsh was a farsighted Ferengi, not prone to making hasty decisions. Which made it all the more surprising when one day, a Human woman came to Grilshallan (as the planetoid had since been named) and asked for five hundred thousand bars of latinum as an investment, and Grilsh, without hesitation, trepidation, or even a day of consideration, immediately transferred over half a million bars of his hard-earned latinum.

It was the one time that Long-Eye Grilsh had made a hasty investment, and it was the one time that an investment had cost him more than he was willing to lose.

Grilsh would later submit a formal petition to add his personal motto to the Rules of Acquisition: "There is no such thing as a sure bet when it comes to dealing with Humans."


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE  
**

 ** **7** * **1027** = approximate number of atoms in the body of a humanoid**

 **120km = approximate vertical distance of the atmosphere of a habitable planet**

 **364K = ideal temperature of coffee, according to some people**

* * *

 _Nessef Yulan_

 _On the surface of Osk Hyel Ama (Secara Minor II), Secara Minor System, Former Demilitarized Zone_

"They're not taking the bait."

"They will." Takeda said, lying prone on her right, not taking his eyes off the sight on his phaser rifle.

Yulan turned back to look at the Starfleet officers, still standing high on the opposing ridge, waving their tricorders around, cautiously peering at the crashed runabout in the bottom of the gulch. Two of them were slowly headed downward, one an Andorian wearing the red of command, and the other a Vulcan with science blues poking out between his grey shoulders. However, they were not the ones that Yulan was concerned with; no, she was worried about three officers wearing gold standing behind them, in particular the tall Human who wasn't looking at the runabout at all, instead casting his vision back and forth in an uncomfortably observant manner.

"Do you think they're detecting the airtrap?" Walker asked. The younger woman on her left was getting anxious, and it was rubbing off on Yulan. She began second guessing her placement of the device; she had thought it was well enough buried that a tricorder wouldn't pick it up without being in point-blank range, but perhaps some energy emissions were leaking through? Maybe she had constructed it too shoddily?

No, she pushed the thought out of her mind. Her tests had been exhaustive; burying the device even 1m into the ground muffled loose emissions. She had buried it twice that deep to be safe. But this was still the first time that her jury-rigged occlusive organic pattern blocker ("airtrap" had been a name that Walker had come up with—apparently, it was a pun in the Human language) was seeing field use. A success would go a long way toward earning Takeda's trust.

That is, assuming the Starfleet officers ever got close enough to get in range.

"Well, they're _not taking the bait._ " Yulan whispered.

"They _will._ " Takeda repeated.

Yulan tightened her grip on her rifle. If the Feds didn't take the bait, this would turn into a firefight. If they _did_ take the bait, it would still be a firefight—but one that they could conceivably win. She took careful aim at the Human goldshirt in the rear, but she noticed Takeda doing the same, so she shifted her attention to the commander. Walker was probably also aiming at the commander, but, then again, she would probably miss.

Keeping her breathing artificially steady, Yulan watched as the Andorian frowned at her tricorder, said something to the Vulcan at her side, and then started down the cliff-face, science officer and one security officer in tow.

"They're falling for it!" Walker hissed, unnecessarily and at a dangerous volume.

"Quiet." Takeda said, in even tones.

The Starfleet officers had now reached the bottom of the gulch, only a few meters from the runabout. The commander confidently strode forward, one goldshirt in tow. The science officer had his eyes glued to his tricorder, but was also gamely following his commander. A few more steps…

The commander had almost gotten within arm's reach of the crashed ship when the science officer suddenly stopped. The Vulcan did a double-take at his tricorder, showing uncharacteristic surprise. Inwardly, Yulan cursed. Apparently there _was_ some emissions leak—nearly eight five meters out and the tricorder still detected the trap. Not that it mattered; the Feds were already in range. Yulan depressed the button on the device against her hip. The ground above the airtrap bubbled upward and burst with a loud hiss of gas. The Feds pulled out their phasers in alarm, pointing them at the hole in the ground. The two officers still at the top of the ridge crouched down behind some rocks, just their heads exposed.

There were a tense few moments as they waited for something to happen. When nothing did, the Vulcan approached the hole, pulled out his tricorder and replaced his phaser. One of the goldshirts in cover stood up again. The moment he did, Takeda opened fire. The first blast nailed the goldshirt directly in the chest. Yulan opened fire as well, her disruptor rifle spitting out a blast that toppled the commander so violently that it made her double-check to make sure she had set it on stun. She had, but apparently her people didn't skimp on stopping power.

From another point further down their cliff-face, Orias stood from his hiding position to squeeze off a shot that stunned the remaining officer on the ridge. Down in the gulch, the Vulcan and the last goldshirt sprinted into the cover of the runabout. As they did so, Yulan spotted the science officer slapping the combadge on his chest, either requesting extraction or reinforcements. Not that it mattered.

"Orias, Yulan, down into the gulch! With me!" Takeda barked. "Walker, stay put! Keep an eye out!"

"Understood!" Walker said, her voice carrying a vague irritation, probably because her shots hadn't hit anything. Yulan gave her a conciliatory smile before pushing off the vegetation concealer her and scrambling down the cliff-face. Orias made it down first, gliding over the rocks and scree as if floating, his rifle on his shoulder all the while. Yulan waved her arms around for balance but managed to make it down without tripping over herself. Takeda landed heavily beside her.

"Orias, right side of the runabout. Yulan, left." She nodded in response. Keeping close to the runabout, she scurried around it. Peeking her head just around the corner, she spotted the Starfleet officers pressed against the runabout, phasers out and ready. They were looking the other way—hopefully they wouldn't spot her.

"Don't move!" She heard Takeda shout and she stepped out of cover fully, raising her disruptor. The security officer gave a panicked look in her direction before spinning back to look at Takeda and Orias, who were moving to fully surround him.

"And don't try anything. I'd rather not have to drag all of you away if I can avoid it."

"You don't know what you're doing." The goldshirt, a pale-skinned Human, said. "We've got a starship overhead and a dozen security officers on standby."

"Lieutenant Hernandez, we will be requiring reinforcements and extraction _now._ " The science officer said to his combadge. Yulan thought she heard a tinge of agitation in the Vulcan's voice—but that was probably wishful thinking.

A tinny voice sounded from the other end. "We can't. Something's scrambling our sensors, we can't get transporter lock on you or anything in that gulch. Standby, we're sending shuttles-"

Takeda stalked over and ripped the combadge from the Vulcan's chest. The goldshirt looked ready to intervene but had the phaser shot out of his hands by Orias. Surrounded and now unarmed, he removed the combadge from his chest and handed it to Takeda.

Still holding his own phaser, the Vulcan examined his circumstances. He regarded his now-kneeling companion dispassionately, before looking about at his opponents. His gaze lingered awhile on Yulan, and for a brief moment, she understood why people felt so unnerved about them; it was like looking into the eyes of a living machine. For a moment, she was irrationally afraid he would decide to fight them (with an equally irrational fear that he might win), but instead the Vulcan put down his phaser and knelt alongside the security officer.

"Very well. I supposed we are now your prisoners."

"Don't worry." Takeda said. "You will be safe in the hands of the Noveau Maquis."

* * *

 _Gahnos, Daughter of Kisthar, Gin'tak to the House of Y'Hrun_

 _Y'Hrun Stronghold, Bareil (Kenning IV), Kenning System, Bajoran Space_

Gahnos was becoming convinced that there was no limit to the amount of "compromise" that the Bajorans would ask for.

She lounged on the throne of the House of Y'Hrun, head propped up by her palm, as she listened to the Bajoran envoy harangue her. She would have liked to have fallen asleep in that position and let the wrinklenose talk himself to death, but like it or not, the Bajoran had actually captured her full attention with the sheer audacity of his demands.

"...your birds-of-prey _cannot_ be permitted to occupy the same transorbital lanes as free merchant ships! They alarm incoming traders with their tendency to cloak and decloak without warning, appearing as if in position to attack, and then disappearing without so much as a hail to identify themselves. Given that you have refused to equip them with IFF transponders, visitors to the Kenning system are unable to-"

"They are running battle drills, Assemblyman Ushum." Gahnos sat up a little straighter. "Staying sharp and vigilant, ready to protect this planet, both for our sake and yours. Part of that means practicing the use of their cloaking devices, device that would be _useless_ if we equipped our ships with IFF transponders!"

"But must they run their drills so _near_ the trade lanes? They are alarming visitors!"

"The Federation traders know very well that there is peace between them and the Empire, and that they will come to no harm-"

" _But the issue,_ Gin'tak Gahnos, is that _non-_ Federation traders do _not_ know that, and your ships' tendencies to behave erratically are driving away trade from the Bajoran spaceports on Bareil-"

"Bah!" Gahnos snarled. "Very well. I will instruct the House of Y'Hrun's captains to restrict their drills to areas _outside_ your trade lanes, if their very presence is so terrifying to your weak-hearted merchants."

"That is all the Bareil Colonial Assembly is asking of you, gin'tak." Assemblyman Poshum gave a short bow, and then retreated out of the Great Hall, his aides in tow.

"Bloodwine." Gahnos said, reaching out her hand. A young Cardassian retainer quickly supplied the desired goblet of bloodwine, and Gahnos took it with relish and drank it dry. She handed the goblet back to the retainer and leaned her head back against the throne with a sigh.

"We let them settle this planet." Gahnos said. "We let them claim every continent save this one. We let them build their spaceports and set up their Assembly and represent this colony in their Federation. We even let them name the damned thing after that dead priest of theirs!"

Her voice had become a roar.

"And still, it's not enough! There wasn't enough savannah for their herding lands and our hunting grounds, so we gave up our hunting grounds. There wasn't enough dilithium for their powers stations and our transatmospheric turrets, so we gave our turrets. And now there isn't enough _room_ in _space!?_ Did we not free this world from the Dominion ourselves!? _"_

Gahnos brought her fist down on the armrest of the throne, cracking the enamel slightly. She looked down and examined the damage. She should probably get that repaired. Then again, what business did fragile enamel even have, being on a Klingon throne? The damn armrest should have been built with fist-slamming in mind! Whatever, she thought. Y'Hrun would not mind. Or even notice, most likely.

"I understand your anger, but I suggest directing it somewhere other than the throne's armrest."

That was Y'Hatarn, sitting to her right. The elderly warrior had kept silent during the assemblyman's visit, content to watch from his place at the left hand of the throne. Y'Hrun's uncle was too old and too disinterested to serve as head of the house or as gin'tak, but he still found the time to sit in on the occasional hearing to offer counsel. He had already been sitting in his seat of honor when Gahnos arrived to hear out the Bajoran, and she did not have the opportunity to ask why he had chosen to sit in on _this_ particular meeting; she had been accosted from the moment she entered the hall.

"I will be sure to do so the next time the Bajorans aggravate me, Y'Hatarn. Perhaps I will use Assemblyman Poshum in place of the armrest."

"Masking your anger for a few moments isn't enough when dealing with heated negotiations." Y'Hatarn said. "You have to learn how to resist letting the anger get to you in the first place."

"Is that why you have joined me in council today? To chasten me for my anger?"

"A worthy use of my time, certainly, but not why I am here today." A wry smile peeked between the old man's dense tangle of white whiskers. "No, I simply felt it appropriate to be here to greet my nephew when he returns."

Gahnos gave a start at that. "Y'Hrun is not due to arrive back from Cardassia until tomorrow."

"A message arrived this morning, advising that Y'Hrun and the Lady Quovana had cut their journey short. I would have told you this morning, but you were distracted by the Assemblyman. A very insistent man, that one..."

Gahnos stood up. "What? When are they due to arr-"

"GAHNOS!"

The doors to the great hall flew open as Y'Hrun stormed in dramatically, pivoting outward on hinges installed specifically so that Y'Hrun could storm in dramatically. He was resplendent in his dark battle armor, sleeves trimmed in targ fur and boots hobnailed with steel salvaged from Jem'Hadar weapons. He was accompanied by the Lady Quovana, dressed in a heavy woolen gown and a satin shawl—probably a souvenir from Cardassia.

"Qapla, Y'Hrun!" Gahnos responded. "Welcome back to Bareil!"

"I trust everything has been well in my absence?" Y'Hrun shouted as he made his way down the hall. "The stronghold seems to be intact, and I just passed that Bajoran assemblyman and noticed he still has his head on his shoulders. No incidents?"

"None, sire."

"Good, good! I cannot say the same for my trip to Cardassia, though! I have much to tell you!"

Y'Hrun had now reached the dias, and Gahnos stepped out of the way to let the leader of her House sit upon his throne. He did so heavily, landing in the cushioned seat with a thud. Quovana brushed past Gahnos coldly, ignoring the salute she gave her, and took her seat at her husband's left. For her part, Gahnos turned to face the throne and readied herself to receive commands—ignoring the snub.

"Ah yes, it's good to be back in this chair." Y'Hrun said, leaning back and gripping both armrests. And no, he did not appear to notice the cracked enamel on the right one. "Thank you for keeping it warm for me."

"It was an honor, sire."

"I hope you got all the rest out of it you could. I'm about to put you to work, gin'tak."

"Whatever you require. I am yours to command."

"I suppose you will be sending her to Osk Hyel Ama _?_ " Y'Hatarn interjected. Gahnos flashed him a glare.

"Forgive me, but I was unable to read the message you sent. I am uninformed about the details of your trip to Cardassia."

"Bah, Cardassia itself was boring as ever." Y'Hrun said. "Nothing interesting ever happens there. Just sullen spoonheads and patronizing Starfleet officers and rebuilding efforts that never go anywhere. In fact, the whole trip would have been pointless, had we not heard the most _intriguing_ news..."

The original purpose of Y'Hrun's trip to Cardassia had been to take part in the Klingon Empire's reopening of diplomatic ties with the reborn Cardassian Union. He had been required to join the delegation because he had established his estate so near Cardassian space (an estate which now represented the closest Klingon colony to Cardassia) but he had expressed a desire to do his duty and then leave, avoiding getting involved in the politics of the matter. Had that changed?

Y'Hrun leaned forward in his throne, fixing Gahnos with a wide-eyed, excited stare.

"Tell me, Gahnos, what do you know of the Orbs?"

"They are alien artifacts, made by the creatures skulking in the wormhole." Gahnos tried to remember what she had heard of the objects from the Bajorans, in between demands for more compromises. "Sacred to the Bajorans."

"Yes, yes, true." Y'Hrun said. "Sacred, and powerful. The Cardassians claimed most of the Orbs from Bajor as spoils of war. A few were returned, others were not. With the fall of the Dominion, those missing Orbs are still out there."

"You have found one?"

"Me? No. But a Federation researcher claimed to have found one, and requisitioned a runabout from Deep Space Nine, and took it to Osk Hyel Ama, a planet in the former Demilitarized Zone, with the intent to retrieve the orb."

"How do we know this?"

"A friend, on Cardassia. Someone who knew this professor."

Gahnos was used to being trusted with information. Vague answers displeased her, but the reason for them was evident enough.

"Do not worry about where the information came from. It is valid." The Lady Quovana interrupted, with an odd catch to her voice. "Her runabout was shot down by unknown attackers. We do not know if she found the Orb or not."

"And you wish for me to determine what happened?" Gahnos asked.

"Yes, exactly!" Y'Hrun said. "I will send you in the _Valbe'hom,_ along with two other birds-of-prey. But be careful. Starfleet has sent one of their own vessels to investigate. Avoid them if you can."

"I will do as you wish, but I must ask _why_ we are involving ourselves here." Since the end of the war, Y'Hrun had been much more interested in the welfare of his estate and his House, herding targ and raising children rather than political intrigue. He had already won his glory; it was unlike him to pursue ancient artifacts. "Why would a Bajoran artifact found by a Federation researcher be a matter for Klingons?"

"Because of the Orb, Gahnos." Y'Hrun said, his gaze becoming even more intense with excitement. "The nine Orbs the Bajoran's gods made were for things such as Contemplation, or Wisdom, or Memory. But this one…this one is special."

Quovana leaned forward as well, and the light in her eyes was altogether more sinister. "This is just supposition, but I believe that this Orb is unique amongst its fellows in that it was built as a weapon."

An ancient weapon made by the wormhole aliens. And the leaders of her House were practically salivating to get at it. Gahnos suddenly felt herself gripped by a fear she had not felt since the war. She turned to Y'Hatarn, and was not comforted at all to see the same fear in him.

"That is your task, my loyal gin'tak." Y'Hrun said. "I want you to find me the Orb of War."

* * *

 _Lt. Wolim Kyunal_

 _In orbit around Osk Hyel Ama, Secora Minor System, Former Demilitarized Zone_

It _had_ to happen on the one day he'd decided to take it easy.

Kyunal had ended the previous day's shift an exhausted wreck; it had been nearly eight hours of crawling in Jefferies tubes, manually recalibrating every EPS conduit on the ship. The task would have been completely unnecessary had the maintenance crew stuck to protocol and run regular auto-adjustments, but EPS auto-adjusts were time-consuming and a drain on the ship's computing power, so engineers running behind schedule or who were just plain lazy would conveniently "forget" to run them. That is, when they didn't actually forget to run them, period.

He had thought about taking the issue up with the captain, but he knew that Ulamna would have just told him to discipline his staff himself. The problem was that Kyunal's immediate subordinate, Ensign Thess, was a very intimidating ex-militia Bajoran who generally had little use for what she considered useless protocol, and that most of the Engineering crew respected Thess much more so that Kyunal. At the end of the day, the problem was although Kyunal was a very good engineer, he wasn't a very good officer. Not commanding enough. Not authoritative enough.

No spine. Probably why he never qualified for a symbiont.

So he had gone to bed last night with relief, fingers aching and raw from repeatedly extracting and reinserting EPS converters from awkward angles. When he woke up the next morning (still precisely at 0700), he had mentally thought to himself; you had a rough day yesterday. Take it easy today. Treat yourself.

So, instead of taking a five-minute shower and heading straight to Engineering, he indulged himself in a six-minute shower and went to the officer's lounge instead. Schedule says 0900 hours, I'll be there at 0900 hours, he thought to himself. So instead of beginning the day finishing up the previous shift's work, he began the day with a raktajino and the latest Vrill Setnick crime novel, his back against a soft chair and his feet propped up on an ottoman.

At 0835, an automated announcement came through on his combadge, declaring that Captain Ulamna had left the ship, beaming down with an away team with Commander Morir, the science officer, and Lieutenant Shen, the head of security. Kyunal paid the announcement no mind—the captain was always leading away teams off on dramatic expeditions. They never asked Kyunal to come along, and he never wanted to. Anytime they ever needed an engineer with them, he sent along Thess, who was always more than eager to get off the ship.

At 0850, Kyunal stood up, minimized Vrill Setnick, dusted off the ottoman, and put his now-empty mug back in the replicator. After peering at his vague reflection in a viewport and adjusting his hair where it had flattened a bit against the chair, he set off toward Engineering.

At 0853, when Kyunal had just entered Engineering, his combadge buzzed.

"Lieutenant Kyunal, report to bridge." Hernandez' voice sounded angry.

Kyunal heart skipped a beat. He had messed up the calibration on the conduits in the bridge and they had lost power. He should never have left them to the last minute, when he was tired! No, wait, if the bridge had lost power then he was have been alerted by his PADD. No, they had noticed that he was late! Wait, that didn't make sense, it was only 0853 and his shift didn't _officially_ begin until 0900. Had he forgotten to send in his daily report? That had to be it. He had headed to bed pretty early last night and he couldn't remember if he'd sent the report or just left it open on his desk computer.

He hurried out of Engineering, not quite running but certainly walking at a very brisk pace, dodging around crewmen. Under his breath, he cursed the crowded hallways; even though these _Nova-_ class vessels carried around eighty people they still weren't large enough to fit sixty comfortably, at least, not to his taste.

He rushed in front of a group of crewmen waiting for a turbolift to take them down. When the turbolift open, he rushed inside, told it to go up and closed the door before anyone could object. He gave them a weak, apologetic smile. When the doors to the turbolift opened, he spotted Lieutenant Hernandez, the tactical officer, in the captain's chair, and gave her the same smile.

"Kyunal reporting. If this is about yesterday's shift report, I can explain-"

Hernandez raised a hand. He stopped short.

"The away team investigating the crashed runabout was attacked by unknown assailants. The last transmission received indicated that Captain Ulamna and First Officer Morir have most likely been captured, along with Lieutenant Commander Shen and two other security officers."

Kyunal gave Hernandez a blank stare.

"Lieutenant Wolim Kyunal, as the most senior officer left on board the _Al-Idrisi,_ you are now in command. I relieve the bridge to you, sir."

"But..." His voice trailed off. He didn't know exactly what to say, but he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to object. Even though he wanted to. Very badly.

He wanted to back out of that room immediately, and run back to Engineering. No, he wanted to run back to the officer's lounge, order another raktajino (three sugar cubes instead of two this time) and bury his head back in his novel. But unfortunately, Hernandez was still an Ensign (the Dominion War had reprioritized experienced tactical officers away from science vessels) and he was a full Lieutenant. He also knew that as a Starfleet officer, this had always been a possibility. And he knew that given his luck, it was just the sort of thing that was bound to happen to him sooner or later.

It's just that...this was the day he'd decided to take it easy.


End file.
